


I've Got This Feeling Time's Just Holding Me Down

by orphan_account



Category: DCU, Red Robin (Comics), Superboy (Comics)
Genre: M/M, NO CAPES, anxiety mention, kent family farm, non-canon compliant, temporary one-sided
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 16:58:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8110270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Every year, from June to August, Timothy Jackson Drake is shipped off to Smallville, Kansas.   He is content to eat his way through the formidable family library, but when he finally reaches the last worthwhile book, he is forced to take drastic measures- walking to the public library. Along the way he meets Smallville native, Conner Kent. With Conner's cheerfully abrasive and intrusive personality, and Tim's tendency to reply to other people's comments with cynicism, the two quickly become friends. No matter how much he seems to irritate Tim at first.   The fourth year, Timothy Jackson Drake doesn't leave Smallville, Kansas.





	

**Author's Note:**

> the drakes are dicks, per usual, and the kents are sweetie pies. excluding clark. who is, in this case, also a dick. sorry man, but you were pretty dickish abt kon in the first place. so i guess it all comes back to you.  
> although there are many dicks in this fic, the one true dick (grayson) will not be included, to all of our dismay. hopefully you'll be able to bear his absence.  
> im erasing lex luthors existance [not sorry] so the smallville population will remain at its glorious 25,001. the 1 is tim.  
> although lena luthors still a thing. shes up in metro, rulin' lexcorp with an iron fist, but she rates at an overall 5/10 on the goodness meter. (;  
> lena's cuban, her grandparents are from camagüey. jack's 1st gen asian-american, his parents emigrated from saitama  
> guess what song the title is from.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter ones a go

After the previous two years, his parent’s scripted speech is expected.

“Some fresh air would do you wonders, Timmy,” supplies Jack Drake. _You can get air everywhere on Earth, as it just so happens to be in the atmosphere. So what, if Gotham air tends to be a bit smoggier?_

“You need to get out more, look how pale you are,” Janet Drake says, faintly resembling a person who actually cares. _Have you considered genetics as a suitable response?_

“The Kansas Estate should get used by someone, and considering how busy we both are, well, I guess the responsibility falls to you,” his father attempts to reason, offering a soft chuckle as if laughing would make perpetual abandonment any better. _Ah yes, instead of selling the unused land to the locals you essentially stole it from, let’s ship our fifteen-year-old son off to another state for three months._

"Honestly, you spend too much time on those electronics of yours. It's time to disconnect." _How the hell would you know that? You only see me a month out of the year._

“I understand.”

It’s not as if Tim was particularly attached to his Gotham home; quite the opposite, in fact. He enjoyed the constellation-filled night sky that hung above Smallville, and there really was a difference in his breathing when he went there. The warm, clean air seemingly helped Tim inhale when the normally subconcious action became difficult, as it often did when his nerves got the better of him. Altogether, he liked Kansas quite a bit more than he did New Jersey. As if his parents actually gave a shit.

Jack Drake leaned over the coffee table and ruffled his son’s raven hair. “Good man,” he said with a plastic grin. Janet Drake smiled, but her eyes didn’t get the memo, remaining their cold and unemotional steel blue.

His parents departed soon after, leaving for Haiti on a business trip to discuss future possibilities of preserving important structures after the earthquake. Not that his parents leaving on extended trips was anything new. His plane was scheduled to be at the airport at seven am tomorrow, leaving Tim the night to collect any forgotten items he might require in the coming months. He knew beforehand that his luggage was prepared, organized to the dime. He double and triple checked, his anxiety getting the better of him.

He ended up falling asleep on the floor, leaning against his bed frame.

At six o'clock the next morning, the housekeeper, Elisa, came to check on Tim. He woke suddenly at her soft chiding and glanced at his bedside clock, which informed him that it was nearly time to be on the road. He scrambled to throw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and he pulled his jacket off the back of his desk chair. Throwing a red backpack over his shoulder, Tim wheeled two suitcases out behind him, politely declining Elisa’s offers of assistance. He made his way down the stairs and out the main doors, where the family’s Rolls-Royce Phantom awaited him.

Hastily opening the back door, Tim jumped in his seat and pulled his bags in before the new chauffeur, a mister Daniel Vales, could even exit the car. Shaking his head, Mr. Vales shut his door and put his key in the ignition. “Are you ready, sir?”

“As ready as I ever am,” Tim answered with a polite smile.

 

**

 

Less than a day later, Tim had once again taken up residence in their Smallville Estate, just inside the city borders. The manor would’ve charmed anyone, what with it’s mahogany and cobblestone exterior, the dark paneling of the roof, and the intricate designs of various birds of prey flocked around the entrance. Anyone except for people who were used to the typical amount of extravagance that surrounded the Drake family.

He resumed the massive undertaking he had begun the summer before last, reading every book he had not previously read in the Estate library.

Within exactly one week of arriving in Smallville, Tim had reached an impasse- there was exactly one shelf that laid untouched by his hands. The end of the book collection would require Tim leaving the Estate and going to the town library to read anything else for the duration of his stay.

Normally, he could just read anything he wanted on his computer, or his laptop, or his phone, etc. He could've even ordered physical copies of more books for the library. But no, he needed to "disconnect".

This was an issue.

Tim pushed that specific problem to the back of his mind, ignoring it for as long as possible. But said problem could no longer be ignored when he reached the last page of 'Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems', he had to face the facts.

Instead of alerting any of the household workers that he needed a ride, Tim slipped out unnoticed and began five-mile-long hike into town by himself. It wasn't difficult to navigate his way there, even if he had only been there once. There were three turns total along the dirt road. About two miles outside of town, he stopped.

To his left, there was a sizable farmhouse, a hand painted mailbox out front identifying it as "The Kents". The farmhouse was not the unusual part. The boy laying on the roof, tapping his foot to an unheard rhythm, was. Tim narrowed his eyes, and could confirm that yes, that was, in fact, a teenager.

"Are you sure that's safe?" He said loudly.

The boy's head shot up, and wildly looked from left to right. He pulled an earbud out and asked, "Ma?" in an uncertain voice.

"Not your mother, but kudos on the effort." The boy's head sharply turned. He studied Tim for a moment. "I don't recognize you."

Tim snorted. "No, I don’t suppose you would. You might want to get down from there, you could break a bone or two if you fall."

The boy let out a whole-hearted laugh, and Tim's pulse fluttered. "I'll be fine, I do this all the time." He slid from the roof onto the porch covering, stepping down from there onto the railing. He jumped the last three feet. He jogged over to Tim and stuck out his hand. "Conner Kent."

With Conner now standing right in front of him, he could see that he was about two inches taller than himself. Tim was a short 5’5”, although he preferred the term ‘compact’. His skin was darkly tanned, just a bit more than somebody who could be reasonably designated as caucasian.

Conner’s thick black hair was worn in a style that he deemed entirely too messy to have been purposeful. His eyes were blocked by small, circular lensed sunglasses, and he wore red jeans and a flannel shirt over a white tee. His style seemed like an odd one to have in the middle of Kansas. Tim hesitated, but then grabbed boy’s hand. "Tim Drake."

Conner's eyes sparkled with recognition. "Oh, your family owns the mansion on the outside of town!"

Tim sighed. "It's not quite a mansion." Conner laughed again. "So, what brings you to the Kent family farm, Mr. Drake?"

"I was actually walking into town. Tim's fine, by the way."

"Mind if I tag along?" Tim shrugged as a response, which Conner took as a yes. Of course he did.

 

**

 

With Conner as his companion, the summer passed by faster than any of it's predecessors. Hours spanned into days, which, in turn, spanned into weeks. They rambled aimlessly about anything that may intruded their minds.

Questions of importance laid untouched. Questions such as, ‘Why do you live with your grandparents?’, or ‘Why do you live alone seasonally?’

Things that could potentially damage their blossoming friendship.

Conner has discovered that Tim is fifteen, has technically graduated, and is taking online college courses. Tim discovered that Conner is also fifteen, lived in Metropolis until he was nearly six. He attends the local high school as a freshman, now turned sophomore.

Conner’s favorite color is blue, and he has a habit of biting his thumbnail when he’s distracted. Tim’s favorite color is red, and he chews his lip until it bleeds when he’s thinking intensely.

Conner has the strangest sense of style that is completely him, and he nearly always wears those goddamned sunglasses. Tim hasn’t even seen his eyes yet. Not once.

Tim is totally and completely enraptured by Conner.

Conner doesn’t know that fact.

He won’t know that fact. Not if Tim can help it.

For the first time in his life, Tim has found somebody that he can talk with for hours on end about nothing and anything. Notions so farcical they would have been ridiculed by anyone that wasn’t the other boy. They both say stupid, idiotic things, and take the time to tease each other about them.

Conner is completely and totally enamored by Tim.

He doesn’t know it.

Who the hell knows when that boy will finally catch up with his own mind.

 

**

 

Tim stared at the water silo, sudden awareness dawning on his face. It was nearly two hundred feet tall, a gleaming silver, and a death threat. He turned to Conner. “You're just messing with me, right?” He asked, knowing full well that the taller boy would dispute his words.

Conner grinned. “I’m gonna do it.”

Tim went slack jawed. “What- You can’t climb that! Con, you’re going to fall off the damn thing and smash your skull in!”

He shook his head. “No way! I’ve climbed loads of things. This one’s just a bit bigger.”

“I’m not going to stop you, but when you wake up in the hospital wearing a full body cast, I will say I told you so.”

He shrugged. “I’m down with that.” Conner pulled off his flannel shirt and his sunglasses, setting them in a pile next to the silo. He tugged off his boots one at a time, and shot a smirk at Tim.

Tim responded with an eye roll and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

After about five minutes of staring at Conner as he climbed, Tim resolve wavered. “Hey, do you mind if I read?” He yelled up, shielding his eyes.

“Go for it!” A response traveled back down.

Sitting down and crossing his legs, Tim pulled a copy of _The Iliad_ out of his bag, beginning the classic for what seemed like the hundredth time.

About thirty minutes later a yell flowed through the thick morning air. Tim looked up at the silo, squinting, and saw Conner. At the top.

He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Congratulations, moron!”

Con definitely stuck his tongue out at Tim; he didn’t need to be able to see him clearly to know.

The other boy began to turn around, sitting down on the top rung of the ladder. He stared at the rising sun, mesmerized by the new sky. Tim watched him, his eyes glazed. And then he fell.

His bare foot slipped off a rung as he began his descent downwards, and everything began to slow down. Tim made no noise, frozen in shock, and then is sped up again.

Conner fell like a rock; quick and silent. He was speeding towards the earth—

 

But then he wasn’t.

 

Nearly five feet above the ground, Conner stopped, held up by invisible strings.

“What the f-” He collapsed.

Tim ran to the spot where Conner now laid, staring upwards. The shorter boy looked at his friend, wanting to help but unsure how to. He began to speak, but Conner interrupted him.

“What the fuck,” he repeated.

“. . . I’m unsure as to what you want me to respond with.”

**

 

“Maybe I’m an alien. Like E.T., or some shit.”

Tim shook his head. “You’re too pretty to be E.T.” His eyes widened at his own words, but Con didn’t even notice his Freudian slip. He was a bit preoccupied contemplating his own humanity.

Conner was sprawled across his twin bed, staring at his pockmarked ceiling. He was gnawing on his left thumb, and was being unnervingly quiet prior to his E.T. comment. He guesses it’s to be expected. You know, what with the flying and all.

It had been just over an hour since the silo incident, and Conner had barely spoken a word since slipping away from the grim reaper. Near-death experiences steal one’s internal dictionary, apparently.

Ma came up to offer them sandwiches a while ago, but left them in peace once noticing the somber mood surrounding the boys. Martha was exemplary at reading people. She would have made an astounding politician.

Con sat up, quickly reigniting the conversation. “Well, what am I, then? ‘Cause I ain’t human, that’s pretty fuckin’ obvious.”

Tim sighed. “You don’t know that. You could be a mutant. A real life 'X-Man'.”

He covered his face with his hands. “I always knew I was different, but, man, for some reason this is so much more... real than the other stuff.”

Tim looked at Conner. “‘Other stuff’? What ‘other stuff’?” He inquired, right eyebrow raised.

“I-” the blue-eyed boy faltered, his search for words failing. “So, I’m like— invincible, right?”

Tim’s eyes widened once more. “Come again?”

Con slipped down from his sheets. “Okay, so like— sometime last month, I guess?— I was mowing the grass in front of the house, and the blades got caught. I thought I shut the thing off, and then I flipped it over and started pullin’ shit from the inside. I pulled out a fat twig; and then the blades started back up.

“I fuckin’ screeched man, It was embarrassing. But that’s besides the point. So, the blades started back up, but instead of choppin’ of my damn hand-” he took a deep breath. “The metal bent. Like, around my arm.”

Conner’s intense blue gaze met Tim’s soft brown one. “It’s crazy, right?” His tone displayed light-heartedness, but his eyes screamed. _Please don’t leave._

In a moment of spontaneity, Tim grabbed Conner’s hand. “Yeah, It’s crazy. But I’m here. And we’re going to figure this shit out.” Swear words had begun to sprout up in Tim’s spoken vocabulary since becoming Conner’s friend. “We’re gonna figure it out together.”

A tear slipped from Con’s eye as he pulled Tim in for a rough, back-breaking hug. The long-haired boy couldn’t find it in himself to complain.

 

**

 

Tim spent the night at the Kent house.

After spending the day trying to make sure Conner didn’t injure himself in his attempts to test his abilities, he was to wiped to move more than a few feet from his oh-so comfy spot on Con’s carpet.

He began to count the petals of the whirring fan above him in a never-ending loop to pass the time, when Con’s voice suddenly returned. “I have a plan.”

Tim used his elbows to lift himself slightly off the ground and raised an eyebrow. “Oh? That’s unusual. Since when do you come up with plans?”

“Shut up,” retorted Con. He threw the wet rag that he used to wash his face at Tim, who, consequently, caught it and dripped water on himself. Tim smiled. “Really?” he asked with a laugh, “You wanna play it like that?”

Tim swung the rag from two opposing corners, bringing it to a whip-like state. Con disappeared from the room only to return moments later with yet another rag. They began to jump around the small room, attempting to evade each other’s quick attacks, and just barely avoiding hitting each other. Neither boy wanted to risk the other’s injury, even if one was invulnerable.   Minutes later they collapsed him a damp pile on Con’s bed, heaving from the strenuous activity and muffled laughter.

“So,” Tim spoke up, his voice still heavy with exhaustion, “What’s this so-called 'plan' of yours?”

Conner sat up and leaned against one of the wooden posts at the end of his bed. Tim also rose, sitting with his legs crisscrossed in the center of the sheets. He sobered once seeing Con’s stark expression.

“I need to talk to my dad.”

Tim stopped breathing. “The— the dad who abandoned you to go live in ‘The Big City’ and continue with his high-end career? The dad you haven’t seen since you were seven? The dad that refused to tell you who your own mother was? That dad?”

“The one and only,” he said softly, now staring out the window. The sky was covered from end to end with bright stars. The stars were gorgeous in Smallville.

“You got any cash?”

Con’s neck would’ve probably broken at the speed he had turned it, had he been a normal kid. “What?”

“You got any cash?” Tim repeated, clearly enunciating each word as if Conner were a small child.

“No,” he said, “I was planning on hitchhiking.”

With a sigh, Tim pushed himself off the bed and scooped up his backpack. “C’mon, I have more than enough on me for bus tickets.”

Conner’s eyebrows rose. “You keep that much money on you, all the time?”

“Makes for a quick getaway,” Tim responded with a shrug.

“…That makes sense. You sure you wanna pay for me?”

“I have been paying for you since the moment we met. You remember how much food I bought you at that café in town? Sixty dollars’ worth. The most expensive item on that fuckin’ menu was ten bucks.”

Quiet laughing began to come from Con. “I guess you’d be right. I kinda feel like I’m taking advantage of you though, ya know?”

“Conner, I could buy this whole goddamn town if I felt like it. You aren’t taking advantage of shit,” he shot back.

Slowly nodding his head, Conner agreed. This could work.

He went around the room, tossing clothing and small trinkets in a red pull string bag. “You really think you’re going to need four different pairs of sunglasses?”

Con turned to look Tim directly in the eyes. “Hell yeah I am. Buddy, I have multiple different looks, all of them set by tiny changes to my overall aesthetic. It’s all in the accessories, mi amigo.”

He waved a hand out in from of himself. “Oh, well, if that’s the case, then please, proceed.”

“I know your sarcastic voice by now.”

“Yeah, you must, since it’s the only one I ever use.”

Con laughed, pulling the drawstring shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, this is my first fic (ever) so please be gentle, babes. although i'm chill w/constructive criticism. lay it on me.  
> i will update (extremely) irregularly, and i plan on there being abt thirteen chapters. don't y'all worry, i got a (vague) timeline i know what i'm doing. im sorry, those last five words were lies.
> 
> the titles from footloose bc i hate myself


End file.
